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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28425783">Friend</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quickil/pseuds/Quickil'>Quickil</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Of Blades and Parchment [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Assassin's Creed - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Ableism, Ableist Language, Altaïr is an awkward bean, Angst, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Light Angst, Light Pining, M/M, Pre-Slash, Rescue, bookseller!Malik, gotta have some arm angst when you are writing Malik am I right?, its relatively brief and not the main focus of this story, like so light he doesnt even realize its pining yet, maybe i should tag this as, no beta we die like men, non-assassin!Malik, should probably look out for that, that will be for another day :), this man is oblivious that he is starting to crush on the strange hooded guy, you know now that im thinking about it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:15:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,407</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28425783</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quickil/pseuds/Quickil</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Malik gets into trouble with some guards. Altaïr comes to his rescue and walks him home.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Malik Al-Sayf/Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Of Blades and Parchment [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2082051</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>75</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Friend</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>*Takes a long, slow sip of coffee*<br/>I am so fucking tired. When can the apocalypse be over?</p><p>   It's been MONTHS since 'an Angel of Death is Still an Angel' came out and boy did you guys want to see more of these two. You have done it. All 14 of you lovely commenters have persuaded me to make this a series. Give yourselves a pat on the back!</p><p>  I don't know how often this series will be updated, but it will probably be pretty irregular. I'm a horrifically slow writer and my hyperfixations tend to change at random. To top that off I'm about to start my second semester of senior year of high school while simultaneously taking 3 college classes (all of this is online which is just so*fun*) and I need to work on scholarships and university stuff too so life is pretty busy. </p><p>   The good news is that all of the stories will be either oneshots or very few chapters so that should make things go a bit smoother.</p><p>   If you have anything you would like to see in the series comment below. I'm always happy for some new ideas! Also if you want more progress stuff and to see what my current projects are give me a follow on Tumblr (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/quickil).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>     '</span>
  <em>
    <span>Just a little further</span>
  </em>
  <span>.' Malik drew his clothes tighter around himself as he walked. Winter was fast approaching, and the weather was beginning to cool. Finally a break from that horrid heat summer had brought!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Malik’s mood began to sour again as he considered the rise in prices for necessities during the winter. He hoped it wouldn’t be as bad as the year before. There was little work a man with one arm could do in the city, and paper and literature wouldn’t exactly be high on anyone's priority list during difficult times.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    With a heavy sigh, he attempted to push the thoughts from his mind. They would be back to pester him later anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>     As Malik made his way up one of Jerusalem's many sets of stairs, his foot caught on the stone beneath him, sending the bookseller hurtling forward. His stomach lurched, and his hand waved in a desperate attempt to regain balance. Rather than doing so, it instead roughly hit a passing guard in the back.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>   '…shit…'</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   Malik scrambled to his feet, the guard doing the same. He looked...angry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    "I'm so sorry my friend! I really should pay more attention to where I'm going."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>     The guard glowered at him. "Don't you </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend </span>
  </em>
  <span>me, cripple!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>     Malik's strained smile disappeared as he was roughly shoved back into a corner. A few of the passing guards stopped to watch. </span>
  <em>
    <span>'So much for salvaging the situation.'</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>"Did you </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> think that you could assault a guard and get away with it? Pathetic!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    The chainmail-clad observers began to close in. Malik was starting to panic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    At one time, he may have been able to escape, but that was long ago. Long enough that his body was still whole. Long enough that Kadar would be beside him. He couldn't defend himself against one man now, let alone four! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    "Y-You misunderstand! It was merely an accident!" The bookseller stepped backwards away from the imposing figures and further into the corner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   "A likely story!" The guard spat at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    With a grin, one of the others turned his back to them and stared out at the streets. The remaining two advanced, and before Malik knew it, he was dodging a furious punch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   It was really only luck that he managed it, and it was as much of a surprise to him as it was to his attackers. For a split second he was amazed by himself, but he was quickly pulled back down to reality when a rough shove sent him back to the ground. His face scraped against the stone before he was seized violently by two pairs of arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   They forced him to his knees, one of the guards restraining his arm while the other simply gripped his shoulder. The pressure triggered the phantom pain, sending him spiraling back into lacerations that cut too deep. Blood dripping from dangling fingers. The dead weight of a useless limb that was no longer there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Malik was pulled back to the present when knuckles met his cheek, snapping his head to the side. He could taste copper in his mouth from his bitten tongue, but he restrained himself from spitting it out. It was better to not push the guards further. If he complied they may be merciful and let him go eventually. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    The man in front of him grabbed his chin, forcing Malik to make eye contact with him. He was leaning in way too close for comfort. Clearly this man did not understand the concept of personal space. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>     “You are worthless </span>
  <em>
    <span>my friend</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” The guard’s breath stank. “A clumsy invalid. A small breeze could push you to the ground. You bring nothing useful to this city. A waste.” His words were biting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Malik remained stiff and silent as the onslaught continued. There was nothing he could say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   He waited for another harsh statement, but when the guard opened his mouth again, all that came out was a gurgle. The fingers on his jaw went slack, and eventually, fell to the ground with his body. Malik stared in shock at the silver knife protruding from his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  The two that had been holding his arms dropped him to the ground, unsheathing their swords. The guard who had been standing watch turned in alarm when he heard the sound. The strangers that had been idly passing them by previously rushed away in a panic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Malik, still on the ground, began to edge away from his assailants. They were distracted now. Perhaps he would be able to make a break for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   He paused to scan for a viable escape route, and stopped when he saw the hooded figure. The man was casually standing to the side of a building arms crossed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The bookseller froze when he saw the read sash across his waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    The Death Angel tuned his hidden face towards him. He raised an index finger to his scarred lips and nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    ...It couldn’t be him…</span>
  <em>
    <span>could it?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   It had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>months</span>
  </em>
  <span> since Malik had tended to Altaïr’s wounds. He had not heard nor seen any trace of him since.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Suddenly, a hand was wrapped around his ankle and he was dragged back to the corner he had come from.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Don’t think you are getting away that easily cripple!” The guard opened his mouth to say more but froze when he saw the sword being drawn. It wasn’t long before he followed suit with his remaining companions, and Malik felt a sense dread take over his body. It wasn’t dread for himself, but rather for his...acquaintance?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Regardless of the type of relationship Malik had with the assassin, it was worry for Altaïr that overtook him rather than for his own safety. Logically he knew he shouldn’t be concerned about a killer being put in harm's way. Being killed himself would be a worthy punishment for such a man, but that day months ago had changed the bookseller’s opinion. He knew that the man behind the hood had a name and face. As much as he loathed to think it, he cared about what happened to the Death Angel, and Malik didn’t want him to die.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    He felt stupid for worrying when he watched Altaïr stab one of the guards in the throat, and without delay, parry another sword strike afterwards. It was ridiculous of him to think that he couldn’t handle this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The assassin made quick work of the remaining two guards. He smoothly sheathed his sword and without acknowledging Malik, leaned over the first guard he had downed. With a foot on the corpse’s back to hold it still, he yanked out the throwing knife. It didn’t seem like Altaïr would be the one to start the conversation...</span>
  <em>
    <span>but what could Malik even say?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   The bookseller struggled to get to his feet, and after a moment of watching, the assassin grasped his hand and helped him to stand. Altaïr opened his mouth as if to say something, but was cut off by a loud yell from behind them. A new patrol of guards had turned the corner to see Malik and Altaïr standing with their comrades at their feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Well this didn’t look good, now did it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Without warning, Altaïr snatched his hand and began hurriedly pulling him down street after street. They turned so many dark corners that Malik lost track of where they were in the city, but the guards still pursued hot on their heels. A few times they managed to gain some distance, but something would set them back. Malik would trip over a loose stone. Altaïr would narrowly avoid tugging him into a wall. A new guard would appear and block their planned escape route. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Every time their tail began to gain again, the assassin growled under his breath like an angered dog. It made Malik’s stomach twist. He was holding him back. Altaïr would surely be long gone by now if he were not leading a cripple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Strangely enough, even with his life on the line and struggling to keep up with an assassin, a small part of Malik was </span>
  <em>
    <span>amazed </span>
  </em>
  <span>at the amount of aggressive drunks Jerusalem had to offer. Was it a holiday? No, he would have known if it were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  He almost crashed head-first into Altaïr when he stopped. The hooded man muttered some curses under his breath as he looked behind Malik. The bookseller turned too, and though he couldn’t see them yet, he could certainly hear the guards coming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “We have to climb.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Malik turned back around to see Altaïr already halfway up the wall. The assassin scaled it smoothly with grace, barely pausing at each handhold. He perched at the top, peering down expectantly at him. When Malik didn’t immediately follow, he leaned forward and with a slight sense of urgency, gestured for him to hurry up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Malik looked the wall up and down. “I can’t climb that!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Of course you can. Now climb.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I don’t think you understand what I mean, Altaïr. I am not physically capable of climbing it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The assassin glared down at him. “Yes you are. Hurry up and climb!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I have one FUCKING arm!” Altaïr’s annoyance may have been growing, but so was Malik’s. It wasn’t as if he particularly </span>
  <em>
    <span>enjoyed</span>
  </em>
  <span> his situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “So?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “What do you mean ‘so’? How in the name of Allah am I supposed to get up there with one arm? Do you want me to magically sprout wings and fly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    The Death Angel snorted and tilted his head upwards. He muttered something unintelligible under his breath before lowering to look down at Malik again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Your lack of an arm doesn’t mean you can’t climb a wall. It isn’t like you have much of a choice anyway. Now hurry up!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   With a resigned sigh, the bookseller approached it. “Ok. Fine. I’ll attempt it. Don’t be disappointed when I fall and break my neck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Something in the assassin’s posture softened. “I’m not going to let that happen. Now get on those crates and grab the post.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Shaking with nerves, Malik did as he was instructed and climbed to the top of the crates. With Altaïr’s silent presence above him, he jumped and just </span>
  <em>
    <span>barely </span>
  </em>
  <span>managed to grasp the wood. His muscles shook from the effort it took to heave himself onto it. Precariously balancing, he looked up to the assassin for direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Grab the window sill above you. You can pull yourself up with the bars. There is room for you to stand against the wall on the ledge above it. Be quick with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “How am I supposed to grab a new bar?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “What do you mean?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Malik groaned in annoyance. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Was this man daft? “</span>
  </em>
  <span>If I let go I’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>fall</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Not if you’re quick.” He paused to look over a building. “Hurry up. They’re almost here.”</span>
</p><p><span>   “I suppose it’s now or never.”</span> <span>Malik reached for the sill. </span></p><p>
  <span>   Through a dangerous game of trial and error, the bookseller was able to eventually make it up the first few bars. He found that if he sort of threw his body towards the building it helped. Malik nearly lost his grip on the last one, but managed to secure himself in time. Overall he thought he got up pretty fast, but if his grumbling was anything to go by, Altaïr did not agree.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Once he finally reached the ledge the assassin immediately yanked him onto the roof. Malik was about to bite out a sharp complaint but shut his mouth when he heard the stone hit the brick where he once was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   They didn’t waste any time as they traveled across the rooftops. Altaïr pulled him across narrow beams and made him jump gaps Malik would never have thought of attempting to jump. At the beginning of the day, he was sure that he would have been terrified, but so much had happened since then that the idea of traversing Jerusalem’s roofs was met with mere resignation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   They beelined to a garden, and before Malik had time to contemplate what was happening, he was being pushed in. Altaïr landed on top of him, knocking some of the breath out of him. Chest heaving, the bookseller went to make an irritated comment. Altaïr’s hand slapped over his mouth. The assassin put a finger over his scarred lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Malik remained quiet as the sound of many pairs of footsteps rushed past. He could feel Altaïr's bracer against his skin. He knew from their previous encounter that a blade was hidden within. The thought of it being so close to his neck made him twitchy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   One of the assassin's fingers tapped against his cheek as if to remind him to be still. He tried to focus on that instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Even after a full minute of silence, they were still pushed together in the garden. Malik hadn’t realized how close they really were until Altaïr left to hop over the wooden wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Stay here until I come back.” Without another word he vanished.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Malik quietly grumbled to himself as he waited. The least he could’ve done was tell him where he was going!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   For what seemed like an eternity the bookseller sat in the garden. The scrapes on his face smarted and he could tell he would be sore the next morning. He was beginning to think that Altaïr would not be returning when he finally did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The Death Angel offered his hand which Malik gratefully took. He was shocked that he hadn’t realized that Altaïr was missing a finger before when he treated him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Once he was finally on his feet the assassin inspected his face. His fingers gently tilted his head this way and that, a sharp contrast to the last time someone had grabbed his chin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You won’t need any stitches. It should heal on its own.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Oh? So now you’re playing doctor with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Altaïr’s hand retracted. He said nothing. Altaïr was not one for talking, as Malik was learning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I was beginning to think you ran off without me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I was making sure we wouldn’t run into any trouble on our way back to your shop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Malik’s heart sank. “I can’t go back now. They will try to find me. They probably think I’m helping you.” Which technically was true. It was Malik who had guided him from that alley. It was Malik who had treated his wounds. It was Malik who let a killer go free.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “They won’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>     Altaïr’s overconfidence was quickly beginning to grind on his nerves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course</span>
  </em>
  <span> they will! There are only so many one-armed cripples in the city! I don’t have a hood to cover myself as you do!” The consequences of the day were starting to become apparent. Malik’s breath began to come faster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The assassin watched him for a few seconds in silence. Slowly and somewhat awkwardly, he put a hand on his shoulder. “I promise you, they won’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Malik shrugged him off and hissed. “Don’t make promises you can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>keep</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Altaïr cocked his head. It brought flashes back to a dirty street. Blood dripping down onto brick. Golden light underneath a white hood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Who says I can’t keep it?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>‘Surely,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> Malik thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘surely this man, this feared harbinger of death, can not be so </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>utterly</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> foolish’.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“</span>
  <b>
    <em>Logic</em>
  </b>
  <span> says so! There is no </span>
  <em>
    <span>feasible</span>
  </em>
  <span> way that the guards will not seek me out, just as there is no </span>
  <em>
    <span>feasible</span>
  </em>
  <span> way that they will be unable to identify me immediately!” Malik’s shoulders sagged, and quietly he added “I am unable to return. I will have to leave Jerusalem.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I think…” Altaïr shuffled his feet, “...that logic says otherwise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Malik shook his head in exasperation. It appeared that this man </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> in fact this foolish, and by Allah was he stubborn! It didn’t seem that there was much to do but humor him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “If you have an idea then I’m all ears.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The Death Angel perked up a bit and his lip twitched. “Well firstly, the guards are idiots.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Malik scoffed. Altaïr’s lip twitched again. He was beginning to wonder if it was a tic of some sort. It was rather endearing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Secondly…” the assassin paused for dramatic effect, “I killed them. They couldn’t find you even if they wanted to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The two of them stared at each other in silence. Malik took a long, deep breath and calmly walked forward a few steps. Suddenly, he attempted to punch Altaïr’s arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “YOU COULDN’T HAVE TOLD ME THAT FIVE MINUTES AGO?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The assassin merely dodged the sloppy hit with a grin and chuckled. It was all sharp edges, but underneath the scary appearance it seemed… softer somehow. Malik decided he much preferred that smile to the blank, minimal expressions he had seen so far.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    His anger cooled as brief confusion overtook his mind instead, which was quickly replaced by a bit of shock and fear as he realized he had just tried to punch a Death Angel. That probably wasn’t the smartest move…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Malik watched Altaïr cautiously, waiting for a negative reaction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   To his surprise, the assassin just shook his head and with a smile still on his face, said “I need to teach you how to throw a punch. That and how to climb walls.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Malik’s nose scrunched in distaste at the mention of wall climbing again. “Why on earth would I need to learn that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “I prefer my friends to be able to defend themselves.” Altaïr shifted his weight.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Friend?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Friend could be a dangerous word these days. Even more so when those that give you the title are an angel of death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   But yet...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   For some strange reason...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   That word made Malik’s heart flutter in excitement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You would consider me one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Well...” the assassin paused and cocked his head, a rare moment of hesitance. Gold flashed from under the hood. It was exactly like the occurrence all those months before. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>blue.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I’m...</span>
  <em>
    <span>blue</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Altaïr shook his head as if to clear it. “Come on. The guard will change soon.” He turned and began walking across the roof, not looking back to see if Malik was following.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The bookseller looked down at himself to confirm that no, he was certainly not blue. He jogged to catch up to the assassin. “What do you mean ‘I’m blue’?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Altaïr shrugged, not pausing in his stride. “ Don’t worry about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   This only created more questions. “Are you seriously going to tell me that ‘I’m blue’ and not explain?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The assassin stopped at the edge of the building and allowed Malik to catch up. He was waiting with a smug smile. “Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Altaïr began to walk across the wood connecting the buildings. Malik followed behind, resolving not to look down. He was steadied by Altaïr’s hand as he was helped across. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   As they slowly made their way towards Malik’s shop, the bookseller often paused to look over the city. The sprawling expanse of dull buildings almost looked nice from this height, even with the larger ones obstructing his view. Altaïr seemed torn between patiently waiting and silently ushering him along. Malik decided to save him from his dilemma and continued walking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   By the time they were close to their destination the sun was beginning to dim. Altaïr helped him climb down another wall, which was almost worse than climbing up. They walked side by side through the nearly clear streets uninterrupted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   When they arrived at the shop, Altaïr walked him to the door. The assassin hesitated at the frame. Malik observed him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>can </span>
  </em>
  <span>come in, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   He responded with a shake of his head. “I have to report back. It’s getting late.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Malik was unprepared for the disappointment that gave him, but he understood...sort of. A soldier has to report back to their captain. Perhaps it was not so different for the Death Angels. So he nodded in acceptance and tried not to show his sadness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “If you ever need a place to rest, you know where to find me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Altaïr was quiet for a moment before finally speaking. “I think...I may accept that offer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Malik grinned and slowly but surely, Altaïr had a smaller one of his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   As the assassin made to leave, the bookseller lightly caught and tugged his sleeve “Wait.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   He turned to look back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Stay safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I’ll try.” Altaïr nodded at him, and Malik dropped his grip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   He watched him leave, and watched still after the hooded figure scrambled up a wall and out of sight. After a few minutes, Malik sighed and shut the door.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hopefully this came out relatively ok. I think I prefer the first story more than this one.</p><p>   I know Altaïr may have come off a bit emotionless in here but I see him as someone who is pretty reserved and collected about his emotions when he is not conversing with others in the brotherhood. As he gets to know Malik a bit better and their relationship progresses he will come out of his shell a bit more.</p><p>  Next story I think is going to be from his perspective, so you can see what his thoughts are on the past few encounters.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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